


Cheese Folk

by Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cheese, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, M/M, frank squared, jokes about murders and cheese, the bond of two people who are unwisely obsessed with Hannibal Lecter, this fic is basically a joke okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9284060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep/pseuds/Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep
Summary: The Great Red Dragon inadvertently acquires a small round companion who keeps doggedly asking him to just try some cheese.orFranklyn likes cheese, Francis likes cheese (or at least likes biting some during murders), it was basically inevitable!





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place roughly around when Dolarhyde was introduced in 3.08, but very little effort was put into following the canon timeline.
> 
> Uh, warnings for jokes about murders along the lines of those committed in canon I guess.

"Cheese!" someone yelled at Francis. He reflexively pressed his mouth tightly closed before looking down and remembering that he was, in fact, in a cheese shop looking at a staggering array of cheeses.   
  
"I mean, that Gjetost is one of my favorites," continued the stranger, continuing to lurk in the corner of Francis's eye, apparently undeterred by the lack of answer. "The caramelized flavor, just, wow! I put some in a grilled cheese the other day though, just as a treat, and it went up like gasoline in the pan. Ha ha, I suppose cheese is a perilous business when you're at our level..." He gestured between himself and Francis, in a line that went from his chest to Francis's stomach.   
  
Francis gathered himself up and loomed in response. Added a little sneer. A lifetime of people being afraid to look at him was useful for these things.    
  
The other man, incredibly, ignored this display of menace and continued to chatter on. He was so round and oblivious. "I've been working on cooking some other dishes that incorporate Gjetost. It's really supposed to set off gamey flavors really well with its sweetness..."    
  
An end to the monologue did not seem imminent. Time to abandon the idea of buying cheese, then. Visiting the shop in order to find something Reba would like had been a mistake. The entire concept of cheese not conveniently found in the fridges of the families he changed clearly came with a price.   
  
Grunting, Francis shouldered past the babbling cheese man and toward the door. Would the FBI be able to tell anything if he just took cheese from the house he would visit on the next full moon. Was the risk of taking something the dragon did not crave greater than the risk of strangers who talked at him about cheese appearing again.   
  
"Well, hey!" The cheese man practically dove between Francis's legs in an attempt to get in front of him. "Don't let my talk about fires scare you off! Gjetost isn't that hard to handle. I can show you some great simple ways to eat it! Actually, here, take my card. I have an appointment soon, but I would be happy to host you sometime."   
  
The card read only  _ Franklyn Froideveaux, Communications Consultant _ . Francis immediately let it fall to the floor.   
  
"I'll take your card, too!" enthused the apparent Franklyn. 

 

Perhaps better to give him something if he would let Francis leave. “Don’t have a card,” he tried to growl in tones inaudible to a human ear, “I’m Dolarhyde.” 

 

As Franklyn took out a fountain pen and leather-bound notebook, Francis took the opportunity to half-sprint out the door. By the time a cry of surprise rose from behind him, he had darted across the highway and been hidden by the ensuing pileup. 

 

He could go back for the van later, he supposed. In the dark of night.   
\--

Two days later, Franklyn Froideveaux was sitting on his doorstep holding an enormous brown block of cheese. 

 

“Francis! You forgot to leave me your contact information, so I looked you up. Grandmother Dolarhyde was fairly prominent back in the day, huh? Glad you showed up when you did, it’s getting nippy out here.” White breath rose from the brown bundle holding a brown bundle that was Franklyn. Francis strongly considered getting back in the van and going back to work. Going straight to a stakeout. But no--the seemingly unshakeable little man might follow him.

 

“It’s always this cold.” He fished his house key out of his coat pocket by the string he kept it on. Resigned, he unlocked his door. 

 

“Sure, sure!” Franklyn bounced in after him. “Then what better time to warm up with some grilled cheese? I brought the Gjetost,” he practically sang. “Some very intriguing preserves, too.” 

 

Vodka, where was the vodka. He could pour it straight down his throat while staring into a mirror until the Dragon woke and remade Franklyn Froideveaux, getting him arrested and ending this bizarre nightmare. If only.

 

A gasp from the living room cut off his thoughts of a cheese-fueled Becoming. What could have caused it? Yes, Reba was the only person who had been in his home recently, but he couldn’t have left anything incriminating out in plain view, could he? He stomped out to face this stranger who had invaded his home.

 

The source of Franklyn’s exclamation revealed itself to be clippings from Tattlecrime left on his coffee table. The latest updates on Lecter.

 

“I knew it! I knew you and I really were the same right when I saw you looking at that Gjetost,” Franklyn was squealing. The cheese had been set carefully on the couch in order for him to better gesticulate. “I was a patient of Doctor Lecter’s years ago. I like to think that we really connected, that I helped him as much as he helped me. Maybe if I had stayed with him it wouldn’t have come to this,” he sighed, running his fingers over the pictures of some of Lecter’s more obscure installations in a way that was simultaneously crestfallen and nostalgic. Francis’s eye twitched.

 

Franklyn had known Lecter the psychiatrist. Had he been less formed then, hidden from society? Had he yet understood how he could bend the life inside flesh into catharsis? Had Lecter imparted any of this, even incidentally, to Franklyn? He swallowed. 

 

“Actually,” said Franklyn, turning to gaze very earnestly upon him with shiny eyes, “I...I believe I still have some press clippings of Doctor Lecter from those days. A lot of the society pages. I think even something where,” and here he crossed his arms across his chest, “he’s with Agent Will Graham.” 

 

A breath rushed out of Francis involuntarily. Franklyn had already resumed shuffling through the pile of pictures, occasionally muttering a “Remarkable, truly remarkable.”

 

Next week, when Franklyn appeared on his doorstep with more cheese and a box full of papers, Francis let him in immediately with the feeling that they were about to view some great nocturnal beast. 

 

He let him in the weeks after that too.

\---

“Hello, D,” said Reba, and it was like seeing the sunrise after having forgotten about the sun’s existence.

 

“Hi,” he said lowly.

 

“This Gjetost sauce with the venison meatballs like Doctor Lecter mentioned in last week’s Tattlecrime article really is divine!” said Franklyn. 

 

Francis froze. Reba looked startled. Franklyn, on the other hand, did not appear particularly deterred from his mission by a strange unexpected guest in the doorway. “Oh, Francis, you’ve got your hands full with--are those plums? Here, I’ll feed you one if you just open your mouth. And bend down a bit, I suppose,” he continued, cheerful with cheese. Three skewers with meatballs speared on them stuck out from where he had them individually pinched at the very bases of his fingers, his other hand cupped below them to catch drips.

 

“Oh,” said Reba in an ominously supportive tone. She beamed. “Hi there, I’m Reba. D and I are coworkers, and I just thought of him when I found these lovely plums in the market, that’s all.” She shifted her cane to her left hand and extended her right to shake.

 

Franklyn did not take it. “Ooh, ‘D.’ That’s an adorable epithet! I mean, very charming and suave.” 

 

Francis briefly considered attempting breaking Hannibal Lecter out of prison immediately just so he could be part of his Becoming and never have to think about the scene currently playing out in the entryway again. Lecter cosmically owed him for publishing that meatball recipe where any fool could see it, he was sure.

 

“Want a meatball?” offered Franklyn, finally noticing Reba’s outstretched hand. “Here. Oh, I’m putting the stick in your right hand.” He then immediately took advantage of Francis’s open-mouthed horror to pop a meatball into his mouth too. 

 

“Mmm! Wow, you can really cook,” Reba fawned in her lovely low voice. The meatball was admittedly good, rich and tangy with the sauce. 

 

“Well!” Franklyn preened at that. “We have more in the kitchen if you’ll join us inside.” He offered his arm. Francis offered a near-sob that he quickly turned into a meatball-appreciating noise. 

 

“No, no, wouldn’t want to interrupt you boys,” Reba demurred. “And I do have to go meet a friend soon.” She turned from the doorway and smiled one last time back at them. 

 

“She’s very elegant,” murmured Franklyn as soon as she was gone. Even he seemed reduced in volume by her appearance. “She exudes a real warm grace.” 

 

Francis shoved him out the door. Somehow, he knew he’d be back.

\---

The next day, five different people at Gateway congratulated him on his “new culinary boyfriend” with exaggerated openminded tones and seemed to think his glares were an indication of shyness and not total internal catastrophe. One coworker pulled him aside to express “some concern about your new beau, dear, I heard he’s very interested in Hannibal Lecter, that’s just a bit of a dark hobby.” 

 

The next week, he overheard some of the same people whispering about Reba’s new girlfriend.

 

He may have entered an altered state of consciousness in the space between leaving work that day and arriving in the parking lot of Reba’s girl’s school. He had gotten the location online, he supposed. What he did know was that she was supposed to be leaving about now. Behind the trunk of the tree he had apparently brought himself to, he held his breath.

 

She moved with a wiry strength under her black polo shirt. Wide hips, black hair, bright eyes. Very handsome, for an investigator. “Well, yes, Crawford thinks that I might be useful to get him to speak to someone...Of course he knows I’m just a trainee, I don’t know why he wants me,” she spoke into a phone while she fumbled around inside her handbag.

 

Crawford? Wasn’t that…? 

 

Francis squinted and made out that the sign the girl had just walked past.  _ Quantico _ . A branch creaked under him with his sudden flinch. 

 

“Anyway, Delia, you have to tell me what kind of fancy cheese to order so I look good to Reba for our date tonight…”

 

The tree collapsed under Francis. Reba’s real live confirmed FBI girlfriend peeled out of the parking lot in some sleek-looking vintage car like she didn’t care about the devastation she had just wrought. 

 

When he had slunk home, Franklyn was lurking on his doorstep again, and he didn’t have the strength to chase him off. 

 

“Wow, you’re home late from work, aren’t you?” It had become warmer in the past few weeks, Francis faintly noticed. Franklyn was not shivering as he waited for him any longer. “I brought more cheese and more Dr. Lecter clippings, you’re going to love both,” Franklyn babbled while he unlocked the door. 

 

Francis ignored his talk of more accursed cheese and stalked straight to the kitchen for the vodka. Cheese was the worst and dragons were lactose intolerant, he decided. No cheese, only blood. His vision felt hot and bright as he clattered around for several long minutes.

 

“Okay, I like to think I’m pretty perceptive, you know, so I know something’s wrong with this...this particular brand of your silence!” Franklyn finally yelled. “We’re friends! I can help.” Even though Francis’s back was turned, he sensed the quivering that Franklyn must have been emitting.

 

With a growl, Francis darted across the room and backed Franklyn against the wall. He felt red ripple beneath his skin. The Dragon was restless at how he had been suppressed the past few weeks, with Reba and gossip and cheese and this tiny impossible man sweating beneath him. How could he have forgotten blood for this?

 

“Franklyn,” he breathed, “Do you know what I am?” At the edges of his voices the Dragon was seeping in. Soon his bones would be twisting. Blood, blood in the moonlight.

 

“W-well,” whimpered Franklyn, still cradling his cheese in the crook of his arm. He was scared, but, unbelievably, not more scared than was usual for him. “My last best friend was a serial killer so you can’t be as bad as him!” he forced out.

 

While Francis’s mind was trying to figure out which part of that statement to focus on, a panting Franklyn decisively held up the crumpled Lecter newspaper clipping he had clutched in his hand. Their eyes hung on it for a moment.

 

The article defiantly disappeared between Franklyn’s teeth as he devoured it in three bites, and the Dragon gave something like a startled purr inside Francis. 

 

He looked at this foolish round man fierce with watery eyes and newsprint stuffing his cheeks and felt something in the universe around them relent. 

 

“Fine,” he said. “Fine.” 

 

Francis dug a lump of cheese out of the wheel Franklyn held and placed it gently between his own lips. They looked at each other, paper in one mouth and cheese in another, and he tasted sweetness spreading across his tongue. 

\---

Some months later, when they were well into the warm days of spring, they turned on the news to find that Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham had disappeared. Reba’s girl, Starling, was being feverishly interviewed beside Crawford about some mysterious thing Lecter had said to her before he had gone, or been taken by Graham. 

 

“Hmm,” said Francis, looking away to lean across the couch to Franklyn. “I think I’d like to try a new cheese.”

**Author's Note:**

> IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN IN CANON but Reba/Clarice may be the best idea I have ever come up with, okay?


End file.
